Jason Todd

Five nights. Five nights of shitty sleep and gut-wrenching nightmares since Dick had gone missing, been taken. And the only thing that changed was that our 'teams' shuffled to accommodate the loss.

Maybe that wasn't quite true. Damian wouldn't stop shooting death-glares at me, like it was somehow my fault. Selina tiptoed around me like I was made of glass. The others spent any downtime we had scouring news stations and radio channels for anything that might let us know that he was still alive. But every night they were empty handed, a little closer to giving up.

And Bruce? He acted like it hadn't happened at all. Like maybe Dick had never existed. Gave Dami his spot on our 'terrorize the Enforcers' team without a word.

I hadn't realized just how much of my own 'free time' was filled with Dick's banter and bad humor. Now our bunker was largely silent.

It didn't help that we had less to do. Enforcers were becoming a rare sight on the streets. With the drug supply gone, the battalions that patrolled were practically nonexistent. Selina and Cass' 'shopping trips' were more fruitful, less risky. Everyone was just sitting around with their thumbs up their asses until the Enforcers were completely gone, and then we'd make sure they were gone for good.

But all of that meant I had more time to just sit and think. To just be with feelings of fear and loss that I didn't fucking want to address. To stew in memories that didn't want to stay buried.

— — — — — —

Before

Dark. It was always dark in the weeks after the bombs finally stopped falling. So much ash had filled the sky that even high noon looked more like early dawn, with only the barest of light breaking through the perpetual clouds. We spent most of the time in the apartment, Dickie and me. Miraculously, there were no bombings in Gotham, and once the initial fallout had settled, we could almost pretend we were safe. Safe at home, safe on patrol, safe in each other's arms.

Things seemed gloriously domestic, mundane. Even after Luthor managed to execute his power grab across the globe. Even after a curfew was established and martial law took hold, and there wasn't any point to our 'night jobs'. It was ok, could be ok, because I had him. His relentless optimism, his clinginess that I only pretended was obnoxious. And the sex. Holy fuck the sex. Each time with him was fervent and intense, like nothing else existed outside of our lust, or his pleas of 'more, more'.

We might've been happy like that, insulated from the horrors outside our window, waiting patiently for the world to finally die, suffocated under ash and radiation. Except things that good never last.

I remember the exact moment it was clear we were fucked. Dickie and I were curled up on the sofa together. Me with a book. Him, half-dozing with his head in my lap. The startling tones of Dick's cell phone made him lurch to wakefulness, and he answered, terse and suspicious. He listened for less than a minute, then ended the call. His face was pale, and he let out a trembling breath as he sat up.

"Jay, pack a bag. We need to leave. Now." Dick's playful lilt had been replaced with the harsh brusque he usually reserved for life-or-death situations.

"What happened?"

"Bruce was right. Luthor just made the announcement. The JLA, Titans, Outsiders? We're all traitors and terrorists now. They're coming for us. We have to get to the safehouse."

Fuck.

— — — — — —

After

"Jason. Jason!"

Tim was practically shouting at me, pulling me back to my shitty reality with a jolt. He waved me over to the computers, huffing impatiently. "'Indoctrination Hour' is starting soon," he said sarcastically. "You told me you didn't want to miss it."

We gathered around the small screen and watched as a grainy broadcast was patched through. The opening footage, a propaganda short about the cities and nations now 'reformed' under Luthor's 'Presidency' never changed, and the unsettling smiles of the 'citizens' never failed to make me shudder, regardless of how many times I saw it. Which was a lot, recently. Usually Babs and Tim handled this - keeping us informed with whatever actual 'news' they could parse out from the lies. But since they took Dick? I hung on every fucking sentence. Each evening that passed with no word brought me a step closer to desperation.

Finally, the 'news' anchor faded into the screen, and he spoke with the exact intonation he had last night. And the night before that. And the night before that, too.

"Good evening, citizens, and welcome to The Global News Network. Tonight, we bring you a breaking story from Gotham City, where our Enforcers' fight against a local terrorist cell has made major progress. We are pleased to bring you a message from Inspector Marie LeGrande, stationed at Blackgate Penitentiary."

I held my breath, afraid of missing a single second of whatever came next. Terrified of what might follow. Fighting the urge to look away. I had to know.

Because this was how they announced executions. The same phrasing; "we are pleased to bring you a message…" always followed by some pompous asshole butchering the concept of justice in a half-cocked monologue, then butchering his prisoner.

The footage cut in abruptly and Barbara gasped. I gripped the back of her chair hard enough to hear the metal creak beneath my fingers, my knuckles popping and turning white.

Fuck. This can't be happening. This can't be happening…

In the center of the frame, Dick sat, chained down to a chair. His eyes were set in steely determination, and the bottom half of his face was obscured by a leather gag. The video quality was shit, but you could see a few fresh, angry bruises, and a cut on his temple that bled weakly.

My skin pricked and tingled with rage. They had hurt him, beaten him, tortured him.

And now they were going to kill him.

Just like every night before, an 'Inspector' (monster) joined the captive in the frame.

"Hello and good evening. Less than one week ago, a group of insurgents launched a simultaneous attack on two chemical production plants here in Gotham City. These were targeted because they produced the medication necessary to treat the chronic radiation poisoning so many of our Enforcers and citizens suffer with. While the leader of this terrorist cell, Bruce Wayne, remains at large, we were able to apprehend one of his top Lieutenants, Richard Grayson, formerly known as 'Nightwing'."

The woman, Le Grande, gestured to a man standing in the shadows, and he moved into view, brandishing a nightstick. Then she continued to lie through her fucking teeth.

"Richard Grayson is personally responsible for hundreds of civilian deaths in numerous attacks spanning months. It is my honor and duty to see that the endangerment of innocents is swiftly and justly punished."

She nodded, then stepped back. The soldier swung wildly with his baton, connecting with Dick's jaw. His head snapped to the side, but he did his best to shake off the blow, resolutely staring into the camera again.

Then, relentlessly, the Enforcer struck again, and again, until Dick sagged down, eyes half open and glazed. Still, it wasn't over. It wouldn't be over until they killed him.

No. No. I can't fucking watch this. I won't. I can't watch them beat him to death. God, Dickie. I'm so sorry.

I shut my eyes, only distantly aware that I was shaking my head. Staggering over to the door, I muttered a half-excuse, something like, "I need some air," then I tore open the hatch and I ran.

I was high in the nosebleed section by the time I came back to reality, and my heart was hammering behind my ribs, a painful reminder that I was alive and Dick wasn't. Not anymore, not by now.

You're a fucking coward, Todd.

I was trembling, gasping at the frigid air, trying not to puke. I should've been inside with the others. Watching. Right? So at least, in some way, Dickie wouldn't go through that alone?

But I couldn't. Executions were always bloody, brutal affairs. Designed to intimidate those watching into submission. I didn't want the image of his bruised, mutilated corpse to be painted on the backs of my eyelids forever. I wanted to remember him full of life, smiling, riffing on some goddamn terrible puns.

Knowing they hadn't broken him first was small comfort. His blue eyes were full of fury and ice, and he faced whatever came next the way he faced anything; brave to the last. Not like me, too chicken shit to even watch it happen.

I tensed as I heard light footsteps behind me. Selina. Wordlessly, she sank down onto the bleachers, carefully giving me space to breathe.

"Is it done? Is he…?" I was so damn gutless I couldn't even say the words.

Is he dead?

"He's alive. Banged up, but alive."

I almost couldn't believe her reply. Thought maybe she was coddling me, letting me live in my fantasies for just a little while longer. I was shaking, wide-eyed. It couldn't be true. They never let people like us live.

"Smoke?" she offered, and pulled out a small, rusty tin. She clicked it open to reveal a half-dozen hand-rolled cigarettes.

Dazed, I nodded, and she pulled out a matchbook, striking a single match and letting it flare before lighting the first one and handing it to me.

I put it to my lips, breathed deep. The familiarity steadied my hands, my voice, enough to ask, "How? What happened?"

She took a drag of her own cigarette and shook her head, "Propaganda stunt, we think. Hard to say. His trial, if you can call it that, is in a week."

We sat together for a while, not saying anything, staring out at the torn and neglected field of Astro Turf.

She dropped the remainder of her cigarette to the ground and crushed the ember under her heel. "Bruce wants to talk to you. He's worried you'll head out on your own, try and bring him back."

Nodding my head, I took a final drag, "He's right to be worried. Because that's exactly what I'm going to do. Dick would do the same for any of us. Hell, he'd outright trade his life for any of us and you know it. I have no intention of sitting on my ass in a bunker while they fucking murder him."

She sighed, shaking her head. "For what it's worth, Cass and Damian agree with you. Alfred, too. Bruce just doesn't want to lose sight of the mission. Because if we can break Gotham free…"

"What? There'll be one city on the whole fucking planet that is slightly less shitty than the others? Do you think Luthor would hesitate for a single second to blow Gotham off the goddamn map if it became some sort of free-state?" I struggled to keep my voice low. "Dick's life is worth more than some fanatical old man's pipe dream."

She sighed and stood, pointedly looking away from me. "I know you love him…"

I interrupted her. "We all love him. He's easy to love."

"He is," she replied, "but that's not what I meant and you know it."

I swallowed thickly, trying to look aloof, like I had no fucking clue what she was talking about.

"Just come back inside." She put her hands on her hips, ignoring my obvious lie for now. "Even if you do go after him, you'll need a plan and supplies. You won't do anyone any good if you go off and get yourself killed."

I nodded to myself and she walked away.

Just hang on a little longer, Dickie. I'm coming.